Undercover (20 page)

It bothered him so much that two days later, when he'd finished the last journal and was more convinced than ever that he was right, he called Bill Carter at the DEA. One of the things that was worrying him was that Jorge had said in several of the journals that he had told the woman Ariana everything. And if his brother in government was aware of it, she would be at risk from him as well. Jorge sounded like a dangerous piece of work. He was one of those strange luminaries with a brilliant mind that had gone awry and turned to the dark side. And his brother clearly was no better, and was playing an extremely dangerous double game. And throughout the journals, Jorge said their time was drawing near.

Bill Carter was surprised and pleased to hear from Marshall. Bill was still sorry about what had happened to him. He had been an outstanding agent. Bill had no idea what Marshall would do now, other than collect his pension, and he had a long life ahead of him. A brilliant career had ended with the bullet in his left arm. There were lots of other things he could do, but he knew that Marshall's passion had been undercover work. And he had nothing to replace it that he cared as much about.

“So where are you now?” Bill asked.

“In Paris.”

“Lucky guy.” But they both knew that wasn't entirely the case.

“I got here four days ago, and it sounds crazy, but I think I'm on to something.”

“Please God, don't tell me you're chasing drug dealers around Paris.”

“No, but maybe revolutionaries. I happened on some journals here, and I'm not sure what I've got. They're in Spanish and all I have are first names. Some of it sounds vaguely familiar, but I don't know why. The man who wrote the journals is named Jorge. He has a brother in government named Luis. And there's a woman in the thick of it. Jorge is in love with her, and I think I've seen her here. Blond, blue eyes, name of Ariana. I've got a lot of little pieces of the puzzle, but not enough to figure it out. Jorge keeps talking about overthrowing the government in his journals, which may just be wishful thinking, but maybe not, and damn if I can figure out which country they're from.”

“How the hell did you get involved in that?” Bill asked, startled by what Marshall had to say.

“Don't ask. My dog dug up the journals. The woman I think is Ariana had just buried them. I'm not even sure it's her, but it makes sense. Does it ring any bells for you?”

“No,” Bill said honestly. “Have you been drinking a lot since you got there?” He was teasing him, but none of what Marshall had said sounded familiar to him. “Are you sure your dog didn't dig up this woman's first novel? It sounds a little far-fetched to me.” But they both knew that leads like that happened sometimes and that fact was always much stranger than fiction. Most leads turned out to be nothing, but others turned out to be hot and blew wide open when you started digging.

“Can you run any of that for me? I know it sounds crazy, but it sounds like Jorge may have abducted this woman called Ariana, then fallen in love with her. I don't know, it all sounds a little nuts to me too. Can you try checking around with the South American desk and see if anything surfaces? Maybe it's old history, and never went anywhere. I don't know how old the journals are.”

“Are they dealing drugs?”

“Not that I read about in the journals. It's all revolutionary dogma. The usual crap about changing the world and raising the poor to power. Nothing we haven't heard before, but sometimes these guys actually manage to pull it off, or cause a hell of a lot of destruction trying.” Revolutionaries weren't usually Marshall's specialty, drug dealers were, but occasionally the two were combined. And they both knew that sometimes drugs provided the money for revolutionaries.

“Yeah, but if they're not dealing drugs, we may not have much on them. This sounds more like CIA. Let me think about it. There's a guy I call over there when I'm stumped. Sometimes he gives me good stuff. I'll run this by him, and see if it rings any bells for him.” They hung up, and Bill had to deal with a minor crisis in Chile after that—they had an agent going haywire who had gone out of contact on his way to Bolivia—and Bill forgot about Marshall's inquiry until the next day. He called Sam Adams at the CIA, who was out, but he called Bill back just as he was about to leave the office. It had been a bad day for Bill. The agent in Bolivia had been killed, and the whole operation blown. Two years of careful groundwork had gone down the drain, and an agent was dead.

“Sorry to call so late,” Sam apologized. “Bad day here.”

“Yeah, me too,” Bill said. “We lost an agent in Bolivia and blew two years of work.”

“What's up?” He knew Bill never called unless he was looking for information he couldn't track down at the DEA.

“I have a retired agent in Paris, a young guy, name's Marshall Everett, he was one of our best agents, and he thinks he might be on to something. It might just be a witch hunt or something you guys already know about, but he's all worked up about it. Smart guy. One of our top men, six years undercover in Ecuador and Colombia. We put him on sabbatical for a year to cool off before we sent him back to the field somewhere else. And we lent him to the Secret Service. He practically got his arm shot off protecting the president and his family. He took a bullet for the president's daughter, and that was the end of a glorious career. Now he's in Paris and thinks he fell into some information. All I've got are first names. Jorge, Luis, and a woman called Ariana. Marshall thinks Jorge may have kidnapped the woman, and is in love with her. He thinks he may have seen her in Paris, a girl somewhere in her twenties, blue eyes, blond hair, about five feet eight.”

Sam sighed when he heard the story. “It's old news,” he told Bill, “if it's the same Ariana. Argentina, two years ago. The U.S. ambassador in Argentina, Robert Gregory—his daughter was kidnapped by rebels on her way to their country home. The driver was killed. They held her for three months for twenty million dollars ransom. The Brits and the Israelis helped us raid the camp and killed Jorge, and they got her out. Her father had a heart attack and died the next day. Funnily enough, I just talked to her a couple of days ago. She just finished with a deprogrammer in Paris we sent her to. So your guy probably has seen her there. She's in Paris, but the trail is cold on this one. Nothing much has happened with Jorge's rabble since he died. Other than kidnapping her for ransom, Jorge never amounted to much, and I think his followers are pretty ineffective without him. We haven't heard anything about them in a couple of years,” Sam reassured him. “We killed a number of his guys with him when we raided the camp.”

“Apparently Jorge has a brother in government, Luis, who plans to overthrow the government, or was planning to two years ago, I guess,” Bill told him.

“We know about the brother,” Sam said, unimpressed. “I think he was a left-wing activist in his youth, but he's calmed down since and become part of the establishment. Our reports told us the two brothers didn't even speak and were estranged. I can check it out again, but I think the brother is okay.” Sam sounded calm about it, and unimpressed.

“Maybe not as okay as you think,” Bill suggested. “My guy thinks she may be at risk if the brother thinks she knows something, and Jorge claimed in his journals that he told her everything,” Bill informed him.

“I hope he's wrong on that one,” Sam said, sounding tired. “She had a hell of a time after we got her out. It's taken her two years to get her head back on straight. Jorge did a real number on her. She had a heavy case of Stockholm Syndrome. She was in a convent for a year, and then went to the deprogrammer in Paris. This is the last thing she needs, to have someone bring it all up, or wonder if Jorge's brother is after her. She disappeared from the press and public eye for the last two years, which was a good thing. Only I knew where she was.”

“Can you shoot me a photo of her,” Bill asked, “so we can see if it's the same girl? It might not even be her. Maybe she found these journals in the trash somewhere,” Bill said hopefully.

“Sure,” Sam said, also hoping that Ariana wasn't the girl the ex–DEA guy had seen in Paris. If Jorge's brother had had men looking for her, they would have had no way of knowing she was in Paris, with her living in seclusion for the past two years, and he didn't want them finding her now. He didn't even want to tell her she was at risk. And they had no confirmation of that yet, only Marshall's suspicions.

“I'll send you a picture of her right away. I really hope it's not her. And if it is, I hope Jorge's brother doesn't find her. There's no reason why they should be in Paris.” But they both knew that drug runners and rebels had a way of finding the people they wanted even halfway around the world. They never forgot a debt or a face. And Sam was sure that they still blamed her for Jorge's death, just as she had blamed herself.

After Sam hung up, he suddenly remembered the box of love letters Ariana had brought back with her and defended fiercely. It was an old tin box. He had rifled through it himself, and had only seen the letters and thought they were of no interest. He had never seen the journals beneath them, which concerned him now. And if the agent in Paris ID'ed her from the photograph, he'd want to see the journals immediately to read them himself.

Sam sent a photograph of Ariana to Bill by e-mail, who forwarded it to Marshall in Paris. It was after midnight in Paris by then, and Marshall heard the e-mail come in. He opened it, and sat staring at it for a minute. She was a beautiful young woman, and the rough details of the case were there. And it was her, without any question—it was the same woman he had seen burying the box with the letters and journals in it, and whom he had seen again the next day, Ariana Gregory. Marshall read about what had happened, and then called Bill on his cell.

“That's her. Sounds like she had a rough go.”

“Very rough, according to my contact at the CIA,” Bill said. “She just finished with a deprogrammer in Paris.” That was why, Marshall assumed, she had buried the box, maybe as some kind of ritual to get rid of the last physical evidence of what had happened. The report he'd just read even said that she'd been pregnant by her kidnapper and had a miscarriage after the rescue. “Apparently her father had a heart attack and died the day after they got her out. She has no family. It sounds like it's taken her two years to get over it, no surprise. And they're concerned about the journals. Somehow they missed them in Buenos Aires. They knew about the brother but thought he was respectable. You're on to something, Marshall. And if the brother is looking for her, this girl could be in big trouble.”

Bill called Sam as soon as he hung up with Marshall. “She's your girl,” Bill confirmed as soon as Sam answered.

“Shit, I was hoping it wasn't, and just some kind of crazy coincidence that a stranger found her letters. And I don't know how I missed the journals in Buenos Aires. She said they were just love letters, and Jorge was dead by then, and so were all his men at the camp. Maybe she didn't even know she had the journals in the box. I didn't see them. And I was so worried about her and her dying father, her box of love letters seemed like the least of our problems. We left the box with her at the embassy. She must not have known she had the journals. She was out of her head then, furious with us for killing what she referred to as a ‘holy man.' ” Bill nodded as he listened. It sounded like a bad situation to him as well, for everyone involved.

“Who's the brother?” Bill asked him.

“A guy called Muñoz. He's the number three or four in the government. A very smooth operator. He could do a lot of damage if he's playing a double game and preparing a coup of some kind, although it's been two years since Jorge died and nothing has happened, so maybe it's all talk and no action, and petered out. He disavowed his brother years ago, and claimed he was relieved when we killed him and said he was a madman. Maybe they both are,” Sam said, sounding worried. “We'll get on it right away and see what he's been up to. I don't want to scare Ariana until we know more. Can your guy keep an eye on her in Paris until we figure this out?” No one had bothered her for the past two years, and no one in Argentina had any way of knowing she was in Paris, nor reason to suspect it, so she was still safe for now. But if she surfaced and became visible, she could be in serious danger, and Sam didn't want to alarm her until he knew what Muñoz was up to now and he got some recent reports.

“Everett in Paris is retired,” Bill reminded Sam. “He seems to have trouble remembering that himself, if he's gotten this far. I'll tell him to keep an eye on her for now, but she'll need more than that if they've been looking for her. And if they are, sooner or later, they'll find her.” Sam knew that too, and didn't deny it. He felt sick thinking about it. He liked her.

“Just tell him to stay on it. I'll get back to you after I check Muñoz out and find out what he's doing. And I'm going to want to see those journals, but I've heard enough for now. I'll call you when I know something.” Sam hung up after that, and Bill called Marshall and asked him to watch Ariana from a safe distance. Sam had promised to e-mail him her address, which he did within the hour. Marshall was lying in bed thinking about her when Bill sent it to him. She lived barely more than a block away. Marshall felt sorry for her. If Jorge's brother was looking for her, there was a good chance he'd find her, and the nightmare would begin again.

Finishing her work with Yael felt like graduating from college again to Ariana. Suddenly it was as though the world had opened up to her. She went out more freely, went to museums, out to lunch on her own, and went to Deauville for the weekend, winning five hundred euros in the casino. She had no sense that Marshall was following her and had no reason to suspect it.

Sam had been checking out Muñoz through their contacts in Buenos Aires, but there were no reports of revolutionary activity. He appeared to be even more respectable and firmly entrenched in the government than two years before. And Sam relaxed a little when he heard it and told Bill he was less worried, despite what Jorge had said in the journals. Maybe Luis had only been humoring him, pretending to sympathize with his cause. Sam still wanted to see the journals just for good measure, but it sounded now like Jorge had been delusional about his brother. Marshall had promised to copy the journals and send them, but he was busy watching Ariana and hadn't had time.

And after her weekend in Deauville to celebrate her “graduation” from Yael, Ariana put out feelers for a job at French
Vogue.
They said they didn't have anything for the moment, but they invited her to a spectacular event to celebrate a new designer at Dior. She hadn't been to a party in two years, but she bought a new dress and decided to go. She was nervous about going alone, but she went anyway. She wore a fabulous red dress, and her picture was in the
Herald
Tribune
the next day, with a short article that upset her. It said she was the daughter of the late U.S. ambassador to Argentina, and mentioned that she had been kidnapped by rebels in Argentina two years before, and her father had died shortly after she'd been rescued. It was a piece of her history she didn't want mentioned anymore, but it was in all the press archives so it was bound to come up. And she looked beautiful in the photograph. After she read the piece, she called Yael and complained about their digging up the old story again.

“You can't help that kind of thing, Ariana. It's bound to come up. The press don't forget anything, particularly if it's shocking, tragic, or sensational.” Her kidnapping had been all three.

“I guess so.” She sounded sad about it, but it brought back bad memories and put them into her daily life again, even here.

“You look beautiful in the photograph, so to hell with them. Give them something else to write about,” he teased her. “Start kicking up your heels here.” It was why she had gone to the party and bought the new dress. But the article brought up everything she wanted to forget.

“The box is buried, Ariana,” Yael said. It was code to remind her that the past was dead and buried, and to put it behind her. She thought she had, but now it was in her face again. She didn't want everyone she met in Paris to bring up the kidnapping. It was still painful for her, even if she wasn't in love with Jorge anymore. “Just try to forget about it and go have fun. They won't write about it every time. It will get old.”

“I hope so,” she said, but she was hesitant about going out socially again.

Sam hadn't contacted Yael to tell him his concerns about Jorge's brother. They had checked on Muñoz thoroughly, and there seemed to be nothing to worry about. And having Marshall watch her temporarily seemed like enough.

The weather was getting a little warmer. It was March and felt like spring was just around the corner, which boosted her spirits after the article in the press that day. And as she and Lili walked through the park, Ariana noticed a man she had seen there before. He had a bloodhound who was trying to chase the peacocks in Bagatelle, and he looked distracted with his dog as she walked by.

Marshall had felt sick when he saw the photograph of her in the newspaper that morning. It was the kind of thing that could wind up on the Internet or anywhere in the world. Her father had been an important man in business, and she had inherited his entire fortune, which the article didn't say, and which Marshall only assumed since the CIA report said she was an only child. But the article mentioned the kidnapping in Argentina, and the photograph of her could be seen anywhere in the world, as a follow-up to what had happened two years before. It was exactly what Marshall didn't want for her, if Jorge's brother was interested in her. Without realizing it or trying to, she had successfully disappeared for two years, because she had avoided the press and been in seclusion. But now, thanks to Yael's successful efforts, she was emerging into the world again. And that worried Marshall. The article in the paper said she had been living in Paris for a year, information that had been supplied to them by
Vogue.
Marshall just hoped it wasn't picked up by any of the wire services. And although Sam said he was less worried about Luis Muñoz after unexciting reports about him, he still wanted Marshall to continue watching her until all their reports were confirmed.

Marshall followed Ariana to the park every day when they walked their dogs, and she never seemed to notice him or be concerned. And with all he had been told about her now, Marshall felt as though he knew her. He still had the aviator's box with the letters and journals in it at his apartment. He didn't want to get caught burying it again, and he wanted to hang on to the information for Sam, until he had time to copy the journals, but Sam said there was no rush. Marshall also followed Ariana at a discreet distance, whenever she went out all day, which was usually a walk along the Seine, or to a museum, or to the grocery store. Although she felt freer now, she was still leading a quiet life, and didn't go out at night again after the party at Dior. The article in the press had slowed her down a little. Marshall would sit in his apartment, thinking about her, once he was sure she wasn't going out again. She never went to dinner alone, and she seemed to have no friends in Paris, and saw no one.

Several days went by when she didn't emerge, and he wondered if she was sick, particularly when he saw the guardian walk her dog. He was totally absorbed by thoughts of her and worried about her, which seemed strange even to him since she didn't even know he existed.

He had planned to go to Florence and Venice for a long weekend but canceled his trip. He wasn't going to leave her until Sam Adams in Washington told him it was safe. It felt good helping her, even if she knew nothing about it. It made him feel useful again. He had rented a car at his own expense, just so he'd have it if he needed it to follow her, but so far she went out on foot or on the Metro in the daytime, and walked her dog.

He was thinking about the strange mission he'd been on for the past two weeks, when he was walking Stanley one day, at the same time he knew she always walked Lili, which gave him the cover he needed. And he noticed that a man was watching her from a park bench, and then followed her at a discreet distance when she left. Marshall thought it was strange, and he followed both of them with Stanley, and saw her go into her building on Avenue Foch. She was oblivious to anyone following her, just as she had been to Marshall for the past weeks. The man who had followed her stood outside for a while, got into a car, and left. Marshall felt a ripple of fear run down his spine. He told himself that it was probably nothing, but he made a point of watching her even more closely, sometimes hanging around outside her building as though waiting for someone, or sitting in his car. He then observed a different man following her a few days later, and then he saw both men in a car outside her house. Each time Marshall saw her, she seemed to be completely unaware that she was being watched. He called Bill Carter after the fourth time.

“I know I sound like an old agent,” he apologized, “but something's up, no matter what Adams says. I've seen two different guys following her in the park, and they were sitting in a car together outside her house. You should have Sam warn her of what's going on. I think she needs to know. If one of these guys gets in her building, she could open the door.” Marshall knew that if someone made a move on her, or tried to kidnap her, there was nothing he could do. He was only one man, and he wasn't armed.

“She's a pretty girl. Maybe they're just horny French guys who think she's cute.” Bill was hoping that was true, but the fact that Marshall was worried, worried him. Marshall had almost infallible instincts, as he'd proven before.

“They're not that kind of guy. They look like tough customers to me. And they were definitely following her. Tell your guy to call her.” Out of respect for Marshall, Bill called Sam at the CIA that afternoon, and told him what Marshall had said. Bill was still hoping it was nothing, and that only Marshall's overdeveloped instincts were making him zealous, but he respected him enough to call.

But Sam didn't agree with Marshall's assessment. After the benign reports on Jorge's brother Luis, Sam was skeptical that he was after her. Maybe it was someone else.

“If I call her, it'll scare the shit out of her, and it may have nothing to do with Jorge or his brother, or the kidnapping. There are plenty of bad guys in the world, and she's a rich girl. She should be careful anyway. And if this is nothing and I terrify her, it'll set her back two years.” And he also knew that if he didn't tell her and something happened, he'd never forgive himself. “Just tell your guy to stay with her a little longer until this shakes out,” Sam told Bill, over Marshall's report. “I want to hold off a few more days before I call her. Can he get me pictures of the two guys? I'll run a check on them.”

Bill called Marshall back and told him what Sam had said, and asked him to take photographs of the two men.

“I don't have any high-tech equipment here,” Marshall said, sounding distracted. “I'm out of the business. I can do it with my cell phone, I guess.” He walked by her house that afternoon and got a picture of one of the men sleeping in a car. And he got the other one the next morning, sitting on a bench in the park, pretending to read a newspaper and watching her. He sent the photographs to Bill immediately, who passed them on, and Sam called him the next day.

“Your guy is on to something, and I don't know what it is. I doubt this has anything to do with Jorge or his brother. One guy watching her is from Chile, the other one is Panamanian. They're both small-time operators for hire who've been in and out of jail for a dozen things, mostly drug dealing, forged checks, prostitution. They don't have ties to government or anyone in Argentina. Someone must have hired them, but damn if I know who. And I still don't want to scare her. Tell your guy to keep watching her. He seems to be pretty sharp if he picked up on this just walking his dog.”

“He is,” Bill confirmed. “He was one of our best agents.” And then he called Marshall back and told him what Sam had said.

“Is he crazy?” Marshall exploded at him. “What is he waiting for? For someone to grab her again? I don't even know her. I can't follow her around like a bodyguard. She'll think I'm after her and have me arrested. He has to tell her what's going on.”

“He doesn't know what's going on, and neither do you,” Bill cautioned him. “They could be trying to steal her purse, for all you know.”

“That's bullshit and you know it. She was kidnapped by rebel forces two years ago, and their leader has a brother high up in government in Argentina. If he thinks she knows something that could expose him in some way, he'll go after her. And she's only just become visible again. She's an accident waiting to happen. If I say something to her about two men watching her, she'll think I'm insane.” He was beginning to feel it, but he knew something was going on.

He was panicked when he saw two more men in a car, different ones, watching her the following day. There were four of them now, and every instinct Marshall had told him they were getting ready to make a move. They had doubled their forces, and two of them followed her home from the park, and the other two were parked outside her house with the motor running.

He saw Ariana heading straight for them on her way home from the park. She was wearing shorts and sandals and a T-shirt, on a particularly warm May day. And as he watched her, and then glanced at all four men, he saw two of them nod to each other. Marshall took four long strides to reach her and blocked her path with a broad smile, pretending to greet her like an old friend. He took her arm and propelled her down the street as he spoke softly to her.

“Ariana, please trust me. I'm with the DEA. There are four South American men moving in on you right this minute. I think they may have something to do with Jorge's brother, if he's looking for you. I want you to get in my car and drive away with me.” She looked at him in total panic with wide eyes, not knowing what to believe, while he continued smiling and walking down the street with her as the men waited for her outside her house, sure she would come back that way in a minute. Marshall's car was parked just down the street. And by sheer luck he had his car keys in his pocket. Marshall and Ariana reached his car, and he opened the doors with a clicker he held in one hand. “Get in now,” he said quickly, praying she wouldn't hesitate. He didn't think the four men would grab her while someone was with her, but if they shot him, they could take her immediately, and they had started moving toward them at a slow but steady pace and would reach them in a minute. “Don't look back, get in, and smile at me.”

She didn't know why she believed Marshall, but despite her terror at what was happening, she did. What he was saying to her sounded too true not to believe, and she knew she couldn't take the chance. She grabbed Lili and jumped into the car, as Stanley climbed into the back, and Marshall got behind the wheel with one swift movement, locked the doors, and drove off, just as two of the South Americans approached his car. He had driven away before they could react or stop them. But they knew she'd be back eventually. As far as they knew this was just a casual unplanned outing with a friend.